A Kingdom Beyond the Horizon
by TacoXI
Summary: It was only a matter of time before the King of Camelot went on another sorcery-expelling rampage; no one saw this one coming. No one except for Merlin, the serving boy to Prince Arthur. Among those Merlin warns is a woman named Forridel. Forridel spreads the message and takes with her a few fellow fugitives, but there was one hideout the sorcerers never should have found.
1. A Narrow Escape to Nowhere

"Ic I Tóspringæ."

The gentle whisper carried easily through the thin walls of Forridel's home, but even had it not, the slight 'click' from the door's lock would have given away the intruder's presence on its own. Sliding her sword quietly from its makeshift sheath, the young woman crept towards the front entrance.

The door opened silently and a dark haired youth in his teens slipped inside the house. Though cautious, it was clear that the boy was unaware the girl he sought hid so close by, waiting to strike.

The youth stepped further into the room and swept his searching stare everywhere. Or quite nearly everywhere. _Behind_ was a direction that, unscathed by the boy's gaze, would prove to be his undoing.

Before her victim could make another move, Forridel stole across the little space that separated herself and the unwanted guest. One swift movement of her wrist, and the deadly blade poked the boy's back in a most uncomfortable manner.

"Move and I kill you," The woman informed him coldly.

The youth, as ordered, did not move. Instead he spoke in a tone that contrasted greatly with the one he had used at first.

"Forridel?"

She stiffened but did not answer in the affirmative, for now choosing only to interrogate her prisoner. It wasn't as though she didn't have time to waste, despite the fact that she would much rather not spend it on an incautious burglar who was using sorcery in Camelot, and in her home, of all places.

"Who are you?"

"There is no time to explain, we have to get out of here. The King's men are coming for you."

To Forridel, the torrent of words collapsed in a murky pile after emerging from the boy's mouth. _We? The King's men? Now? _ Her sword hand faltered in its task as its master processed this strange message, but not for long. A raucous noise tore the woman from her thoughts.

_**Rap. Rap. Slamslamslam-**_

And a pause. Both the intruder and the owner of the house turned to look at the door, their quarrel nearly forgotten.

"Open in the name of the King!" A stern voice barked.

**Slamslamslamslamslam...**

The noise continued and Forridel pursed her lips. She might have considered staying and pointedly denying the order if the boy hadn't seemed so insistent and the door hadn't shaken quite so unsteadily. She didn't want to learn why the King's men summoned her if it meant she would learn while at their mercy, and besides, she suspected she knew their reasons already. The boy gestured broadly to the back exit. In response, his new ally slid her weapon back into its sheath, plucked her hooded cape off the back of a chair, and followed him, the mysterious do-gooder, into the alleyway.

The two fugitives dodged between a few narrow spaces before stopping a safe distance from their starting point. Open-mouthed and panting, Forridel peeked around the corner of the house she took shelter by. A few strands of blonde hair that hung down in her face and the smoke that rose steadily ahead impeded her view, but not by much. She could still see the armor-clad figures that poked through carts of hay with their swords. The girl turned back to her co-conspirator, saying in a breathless and grateful half-whisper, "How did you know they were coming for me?"

"I'm Prince Arthur's servant."

"You took a great risk, thank you," Forridel murmured. The servant of the King's son had chosen to rescue a mere villager from certain death? How unlikely this seemed even as the facts were placed before her.

"I'm just sorry I couldn't help them all."

The boy did not appear to put any thought to what he said, for he stared past his companion and around the corner distractedly. Forridel, however, now saw this stranger in a new light. If she ever had the chance, she would not hesitate to repay him for his act of kindness.

She took another hasty glance around the building. The Lower Town was a mask of smoke and emotionless shouts. The people were being marshaled from their homes by the stoic knights who cared for nothing but their orders. But truly, who could blame them? Even when faced with teary pleas the knights did not waver. They knew their King would punish them if news of their uncertainty spread, for uncertainty meant that their pledges of loyalty were voided. The ruler of Camelot could not afford to harbour false-hearted subjects.

It was time to leave, Forridel decided. When the King's men searched the surrounding houses—and they would, soon enough—the girl planned to be far from the scene.

"We better go," she told the boy, hurrying forward. But he pushed her back into the wall with a serious expression.

"No, wait. I need your help. I'm looking for a way to contact the Druids." He said this in a 'heed-my-words' way, just as he had said everything else. He projected a feeling that would assure any in his presence that he desperately wanted, even _needed _help.

His light, grey-blue eyes bore into hers in a gesture of sincerity. Forridel still could not trust that he spoke without malicious intent, and she answered with distaste.

"I wouldn't know anything about them."

"You don't need to lie to me."

_Is that so? _she thought. How could she be certain?

"I'm not lying," she snapped back, blatantly doing exactly that. She turned away from the servant and cast her gaze to the villagers once more.

"Please, if it wasn't for me, you'd be under arrest. You know I'm not a spy for Uther."

At this name, Forridel looked back to the boy. He continued urgently, "I'm a friend of the Druids. I need their help." A nod accompanied these words, and again the woman being addressed found her acquaintance looking directly into her eyes.

He stared; she stared back. What more was there to do? Could she assist him? He betrayed his master for the sake of those who used magic, but then, he himself practiced sorcery as well. Many magicians she had encountered were not the friendly type, and the appearance of those who were less harsh in manner still did not bode well. They rarely brought good fortune. But this boy was a picture of innocence. His dark hair lay messily upon his head, his maroon handkerchief, hanging limply about his neck, had worn thin with use, and his face reflected eager hope. Yet behind all that was a determination Forridel had not seen in a long time. In this moment, she just knew. He was here to help.

"What do you want to know?"

"My friend, she's in trouble. I know only they can keep her safe. Where can I find them?"

The woman under questioning answered after a moment of thought. "I have not made contact with them often, but last I knew, they camped in the forest of Essetir. The Druids are not easily approached," she warned. "Especially not in these times. Their journeys are fraught with danger. When Uther's men aren't chasing them, other kingdoms that forbid magic await them in every corner. You must be cautious."

The boy nodded. "Thank you. I-"

But their time was up. The unmistakable sound of uneven marching drew close — certainly too close for comfort. The boy glanced at Forridel in acknowledgment and the two parted ways, the boy darting off to the left and the woman pulling her dark cloak over her ragged red dress, hurrying down a winding path in the opposite direction.


	2. And Miles to Go Before I Sleep

"Oweyn!"

Forridel threw back her hood and knocked, frantic, on the cottage's wooden door. She stopped for a moment, listening. The knights' shouted orders could be heard from afar and the alarmed clucking of hens sounded from the yard, but otherwise all was quiet.

"Oweyn!" She called again for her friend, yet no response came. The woman couldn't tell if the increased rapidity of her heartbeat was due to her run here or her concern for Oweyn's wellbeing. Her hand trembled where she held it, poised to knock on the door once more.

It occurred to her that the stillness of the air around her should have scared her, it really should. Yet all she felt was fear for her friend and a strange empty feeling far in the shadows of her mind. There were no people in the streets: many had probably gone to the market in the morning and others would be locked up inside their homes, waiting for the storm brought by Uther's hatred to pass. This section of the town seemed lifeless, but soon enough the King's men would strike.

Forridel waited a moment more, alert to every sound and movement. She didn't want to intrude on the privacy of Oweyn's home, but he was her friend after all, and a close one. The woman thrust her hand forward to use her abilities on the latch. Something stopped her, though. In the midst of her panic she had an impulse, and instead used her outstretched hand to grasp the handle and push the door inwards. This she did without thinking, and it proved a worthy strategy. The door was not, in fact, fastened.

Why would he leave his home without even the slightest semblance of security? The sorceress swept inside to take a brief glance about herself. The shelves were blank, the table clean, the small cot in the corner devoid of blanketing and cushion, and— Forridel lunged forward to open a cabinet— there was nothing in the cupboards either. It was clearly a planned departure.

She froze in place for a moment, then a name jolted to the surface of her jumbled thoughts.

_Vanora!_

Forridel rushed from the cottage without bothering to close the door, hoping with a good bit of desperation that her fellow sorcerers were not lost to her yet. And, just in time to see her go, a squadron of knights entered the square.

The sorceress was quick on her feet as she weaved between houses and into alleyways, holding her skirts in a bundle. The knights' shouts of evident pursuit propelled her ever faster. As she pressed on, her hood flopped about on her back, reminding her that she had forgotten to cover her face. What did it matter now? They were after her, they had her name on a proverbial hit list. It didn't matter who saw her; she was running, and during a culling of magic. That would attract enough attention by itself. All she could do was run.

_Run._

She dashed around a corner, almost slipping on the smooth cobblestones. The air she forced into her lungs tore painfully through her chest.

_Faster. _

There was a gap, just a small one, between the two thatch-roofed houses ahead. Going around would take too long. She couldn't breathe anymore, and still she re-gathered her skirts, preparing to edge through.

_**Over here! **_

Oh, they were coming, all right. Forridel skidded into the left house, then grabbed at the grimy wall for traction with a free hand, redirecting the force to push her towards the gap. She began to run again before she saw the shovels and rakes ahead. Of course it was the perfect place to store old tools, especially if there was no rain. The fugitive crashed into the equipment, trying to jump over the fallen rakes and skirt around the rest as quickly as possible. This was not very quick at all: Forridel knew it, too.

Just behind her was a knight whose speed must be owed to a bit of extra training that the rest seemed not to have gone through.  
The girl stumbled, a rasping breath scraping her lungs, and leapt back into the sunlight on the houses' other side. She didn't look back again, rushing towards the forest. All she could hope, as she made her way to rescue her friend, was that the ill-positioned gardening tools would delay the knights more than it had done her.

Only a few moments into the forest and Forridel could not bear to hold her pace any longer. The knights' voices and pounding footsteps were fading, for she knew the woods better than they did. Still, navigating to the dwelling of Vanora on this day required a new path to be taken.

The woman, choking down breaths of damp air, made her way at a brisk jog. Could Vanora have heard the news? Where was Oweyn? Who had she left behind?  
That thought, the thought of those people of her kind who had no one to foresee the attack and warn them...it grasped her heart as the noose in the town's square might have done her neck, if not for Merlin. She'd never thought much of him or even paid him any mind when she saw him: in the market buying herbs, at neighbors' houses delivering potions, in the village being pelted with rotten fruit for some misdemeanor or another. Yet here he was, a sorcerer, a warrior, and a kind soul, protected only by falsified ignorance and his slave rank. He had braved this how long? Years?

Forridel was determined to find the few who had not been taken; they would flee Camelot together. It was the very least she could make of the servant boy's risk.

By now she had been traveling further than her train of thought might lead her to believe: she was likely no more than half a day's ride from the Camelot/Escetir border. The woman had no steed, though fortunately she did not require one, for reaching the border was not her goal. On foot, she could make it to a hideaway in an hour, a hideaway secreted amidst the trees for those who needed it most. With luck, Oweyn was waiting for herself and the others there.

_Luck._

Forridel scoffed, then shifted to alertness. Someone was watching her. She kept her pace steady without changing her direction, knowing it could hardly be a knight. She would have heard them long ago, no, whoever it was had been here before she came. Bandits? Perhaps. She kept her magic ready in case this possibility proved itself the truth.

A cool tendril of the wind swirled about the edge of her cloak, then several dry leaves crunched from behind. The traveler froze.

"F...Forridel?"

The woman turned to see the anxious eyes and countenance of Vanora herself, as well as the other two members of her family emerging from the overgrowth.

"Vanora!" She rushed forward to embrace her lifelong friend. "How did you-? Who told you?"

"Oweyn," the dark-haired woman murmured. At her friend's evident confusion and worry as to the lack of his presence, she shook her head.

"He sent us with his possessions. I don't know where he went, only that he promised to join us by nightfall, if not sooner. There was no time to press for answers."

"Of course." Forridel sighed. She knew Oweyn, and he would not be dissuaded from protecting the things most valuable to him. Friends, family, old books and scrolls, amulets...she couldn't fathom his reason this time, but if he had it his way, he would rejoin them soon. Magic and wits beside him, Oweyn would survive.

"We should keep moving. The house isn't far now and we can talk once we're safe there."

Vanora nodded, took her daughter's hand, and forged ahead, Favian and Forridel keeping watch as they followed.


End file.
